Unmasked

Finn's POV

My head was a mess. I had two different raging entities inside me. My moral compass was screaming 'what did you do, how could you kiss her?' and my libido was yelling 'why did you stop kissing her? Why trade kissing that girl for an anger management meeting?'.

My brain was in open conflict and I hated it. Plus, this was my last meeting ever with this group—or any other. I should be happy, celebrating that from now on, I would have normal Saturday nights. I wouldn't have to be reminded of two years ago constantly, or how my life changed because of it. I should be happy, but my thoughts kept going to Valerie. Valerie and her lips.

"Finn?" Blinking was the smartest response Dr. Fitz got from me. "I asked if you would share your thoughts about Gary's experience?"

I scoped our circle of trust to remind myself which one was Gary. This group rotated a lot, sort of like playing musical chairs. I was the oldest collectable here. I decided Gary was the one staring at me pointedly. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees and thanks to his hair being caught in a ponytail, I could totally see his face. My thoughts of Valerie were so intrusive that I'd missed this dude. His right cheek sported a sutured cut, his mouth was busted on the same side—swollen—not to mention the speckle of bruises highlighting his pale complexion.

"My thoughts on…?" I started, training my eyes on Fitz.

Fitz looked exasperated with me.

"On the story Gary shared with us." Right. One of many I hadn't heard. No offense to anyone, but after three years of meetings I'd heard more than my fair share. If I shared some of them with Mom she would sanitize my brain.

A croaked, angry laugh came from four chairs to my left.

"I bet he wasn't even listening. Same as always." I felt a phantom shudder. It was Goatee guy. Shit. "I've been coming to every meeting for the last two months and this little shit never—"

"Alex," Dr. Fitz monitored Goatee's verbal harassing. I slipped Alex a look. "Not everyone feels inclined to share and talk easily. Finn just needs…"

I sat up straight from my slouch. Irritation prickled and scratched for an outlet because I knew how that sentence ended, I'd heard it too many times now.

"More time?" I shot back. "I don't need more time, doc. I don't need time to come to terms with what I did—I've been coming to these meetings for three years. I've come here out of guilt for what I put my parents through, not because I think what I did was wrong. I don't think it was."

Doctor Fitz's eyes bulged.

I looked around for a beat, "Do you all want to know why I'm here? Do you want to know, Alex? Is it so fucking important that I share with the world what my sister went through? That because I decided to throw a party she was seconds away from being raped? Alright, Fitz. Here's what I did: I pulled the bastard off my sister. I saw what he did to her. I saw her torn clothes, her underwear pulled down—to her ankles. There were scratches on her legs and arms. She was bawling and sobbing. My little sister. So, I punched the guy—I punched and kicked him. I banged his head against a wall. There was blood—on my hands, on his face, on the floor—blood fucking everywhere. Someone came in—someone pulled me off. The guy was barely breathing when the paramedics got there. He was in a coma for two days and didn't leave the hospital for a month. I'm responsible for almost killing a person. End of story. Except it wasn't and I was forced to join this group, because my anger needs managing? Because I protected my sister from a scumbag who tried raping her in our own house? Fuck that. I never needed help with my anger because I'm not angry by nature!" Okay, people might not see it my way since I was yelling.

Everyone was staring at me. I was up, standing on my own two feet, heaving. Yeah, I didn't come across as a person who needed anger management. Surely. Dr. Fitz started coughing and appeared he couldn't stop. Probably chocked on his saliva. Feeling extremely self-conscious, I sat back down. I leaned back against the folding chair, arms crossed.

I made sure my voice was quieter when I opened my mouth to speak, "What makes me angry is having to come here because my mother's afraid I'll snap or something." I let it sink in just how true that was and how I'd never said it out loud—to anyone. I took a calming breath, centering myself. "Do you still want my thoughts on Gary's story?" I said in a steely tone. Some twisted satisfaction curled my insides when Dr. Fitz waved a hand at me, still coughing into the crook of his arm. I repressed a smirk.

With that outburst—the most I'd shared in these years—our little meeting ticked by awkwardly. I reveled in it, knowing I would never see these people or Fitz again.

***

My parents were watching a movie when I got home. Mom was asleep; she was doing her best to occupy a whole section of our couch. Dad's arm was hanging off the back. He was wearing his home-from-work sweatpants and a grey hoodie. He cocked his head my way as I walked toward the kitchen area.

"How's it going, Huck?" I could hear the grin in Dad's tone.

"I'm not going to answer if you keep calling me that."

"You were named after the guy."

"Only the Finn part of the name." I rolled my eyes grabbing a pop-tart out of the fridge. "If Mom had wanted to name Johnny after Sherlock Holmes instead of John Watson, would you have let her?"

My father gave me a pensive look.

"Probably not." Ah, so there were limits to Mom's cute influence over Dad. Good to know. "Did I ever tell you how close you were to being named after Michelangelo? And I don't mean the painter, I mean the ninja turtle." He nodded pointing my way. "You're welcome, kiddo."

"Whatever. It was my last meeting tonight." I hoisted myself onto the island. "Don't ask how it went, I'm just glad it's over and I never want to see posters about anger management for as long as I draw breath." I found they did the opposite of calming and helping. Shocker.

"I never ask." Dad mumbled, getting to his feet. He made a bee-line around the couch. "That's a nice thing you did for your mother, Finn. You're a good son and a good person. Don't let anyone tell you differently." Obviously, Dad hadn't been happy with the news of what almost happened to April, or how it had been because of my lack of responsibility. "You wanted to have a good time with your friends. I get that—I've been there. I just… Something awful could've happened that night. Two awful things. That boy deserved what he got, God knows he did, but if he died because of it… that would've haunted you, son."

"I know that. We've been over this, I didn't mean to go so far."

My father gave me a look bordering on condescending and I hated it.

"No, but it could've destroyed you and your life. Accidents happen, Finn." My father didn't talk about the incident, he just breezed past it whenever it came up; whenever Mom asked how the meetings went, he would leave the room. "I'm not trying to guilt you into anything, son. I just want to make sure you understand that you are responsible for your actions and people are held accountable. You were lucky to be a minor, lucky that the judge sympathized with your sister's testimony and that you had no previous misconducts."

"Right. Don't worry, Dad, I'm not planning on becoming a felon. That's why I'm shipping off to college. To get a higher education."

"Don't be snide, Finn. I just want…" Dad scrubbed a hand down his face. Not many people knew this, but Mom was older than Dad by two years. In this moment, he looked older than her—much older. Ten years older. "I just want to know that you'll be okay. It's never been easy for me to talk this out, kid. I worry about you and your sister—like I worried about your brother, when he was your age. It doesn't get easier, it just seems to get harder, letting you guys go out into the world." Dad sighed pinching his nose. Older eyes stared into mine, making me wonder if my eyes would look like his in a couple of years: tired but warm. "I never asked because I never thought you had a problem, but do you need those meetings? Do they help you in any way?"

"I really don't need them, Dad. Like you said, I only kept going for Mom." I lowered my voice when I heard shifting in the couch. "I just want to move on."

Dad seemed to relax after those words. I realized maybe that's what he wanted, too. Maybe me attending those group meetings constantly reminded my father of what happened and what could have happened. Not even processing what I was doing I jumped off the island, nearly dropping my half-finished sweet.

"Shit!" I cursed loudly—Mom shot up mumbling a 'what?'. Her glasses were askew, and her face was sleep ridden. I went to my room before Dad chastised me on language.

I dug out my phone and headed for my bed… I stopped, whirling. I locked the door. I didn't need more speculation about my dating life. If anyone walked in on me talking to Valerie I would never live it down. I kicked off my shoes and fell back on my unmade bed. A bed she'd slept in. I looked at my phone. Would she even pick up? Why was I calling? I mean, aside from the fact that I told her I would be calling. Why had I said that?

To call or not to call? A little snarky voice woke up: You already kissed her, what's the harm in calling? The snarky voice made a good point. Plus, if I ever saw her again—likely, since she was Ava's friend—she would rant on about how I was rude for not calling.

I dialed her number and put the phone to my ear. It rang. Twice. Five times. On the seventh I sighed—

"You called."

"Huh," I intoned, slightly shocked she'd picked up. "Hi and yeah, I said I would."

"It's almost eleven." I hadn't checked the time. "I thought you just said that because it's like… I don't know, the standard thing to say."

"The standard thing?"

"After you kiss someone and have to leave." Ah.

"Is it not a good time to talk?"

"I was watching a show."

I ran a hand through my hair, "Do you want to… hang up?" There was a stretched out pause of silence, enough to make me think she already had.

"No, I can watch it whenever." Another awkward pause. "Should we talk about what happened?"

"I don't know."

"Okay?" she sounded unsure. That was new. "Why are you calling if you don't want to talk about that?"

"That?" I gave a little chuckle. "Can't you say the word?"

"What word?" it was bitten out.

"The word that starts with a K and ends with issing."

"Oh holy… You are so immature."

"Me? I can say we kissed. See? I said it. The world didn't implode."

A frustrated groan later: "Alright, we kissed. I guess that's it—we kissed. What more is there to say?"

"You're not curious why I kissed you?"

"Because I'm hot and you want in my pants?"

I pulled the phone from my ear, blinking at the device as if expecting Valerie's face to stare back at my bewilderment. That's what I called being blunt. Shaking it off, I pressed the phone back into place.

"Wow. Just… wow. Nice, Valerie."

There was a remote chuckle on her side, "Hey, I know my worth in beauty. I'm not bragging or anything, it's just a fact that among our society I'm considered an attractive female by the media. Do I think every girl or woman who doesn't look like me is not beautiful? No, I don't. I think beauty is an ever-changing concept. Years ago, eating abundantly and having more fat was considered a sign of power, status and good health because those people withstood famine longer. Heavier women were considered beautiful and it was a sign of fertility. Personally, I think people should watch their weight and what they eat because of their health and never because of feeling like they must fit into a category someone came up with. Or because it's the latest fashion and some men and women think thin, athletic people do better at jobs or because they give the workplace a better vibe. Whatever the hell that means." I draped an arm under my head. This conversation had taken a sudden turn. Surprisingly, her fiery rebuke was quick and articulated like she was on for a debate. Maybe the biggest surprise was that I didn't speak, letting her go on. "Honestly, it's like nowadays everything is something to sell. Beauty, health, happiness—anything. You can't put prices on those things—especially on health. I don't have money issues, no, but it's not like I'm blind to what's around me."

"You sound like an activist ready to fight The Man." I shut my mouth, frowning. Why did Valerie's speech remind me of Mom when she went on one of her raging moments? "Do you want to be a journalist?"

"What? No." There was some weird rustling sound on her end. I assumed she was shifting around, maybe on her bed? If I closed my eyes I could put together an image of her bedroom—of her lying on bed. "What were you doing?"

I licked my lips feeling a tingle of warmth shot through me—my eyes landed on my pants. I was beginning to stretch against my jeans like crazy and all I'd done was imagine Valerie on her bed, talking to me.

"When?"

"Before you called."

Having a deep-meaningful talk with my father about how I shouldn't kill people because I wasn't a minor anymore and my mother would die of a broken heart.

"Nothing. I just got home from… running an errand for my Mom. That's why I left in a hurry." It wasn't a complete lie, considering Mom was the reason why I'd kept going back. Not anymore, I smiled sighing happily.

"I guess I won't go off on you for leaving like your house was on fire. Just because you were doing something nice for your Mom. Not because you called."

"There's no winning with you."

"Some people say I'm a tough cookie."

"I'm starting to think you're gooey on the inside." I could picture her glaring ahead, at the wall, imagining me going up in flames. "Did your Dad ask anything about last night?"

"I haven't seen him yet. So, no. Don't worry, Finn, I'm going to say you were a perfect gentleman. Even if you didn't get me flowers." I groaned, shutting my eyes. Laughter rang across the line. "I'm joking. Although for future reference, it's nice to get flowers for a girl."

"You said it wasn't…"

"It's a nice gesture anyway, Finn. Look it up online—ask Thomas. He seems to have romance down, much to my chagrin. I honestly thought he was an unredeemable sex addict before Ava came along."

I thought something along those lines before I got to know Trip. You couldn't really blame me. Before Ava, the guy showed up on TMZ every other week with this girl or another, he crashed parties and then crashed his Porsche. From what I knew now, Gabriel was the troublemaker type, not Trip. How didn't he raise red flags?

"What show were you watching?"

"Just a show." It was the second time she hesitated. Okay.

"Keeping Up with the Kardashians?"

"Yeah, right. Like I need that crazy shit." I burst out laughing. I rolled over, shoving my face into my pillow to muffle it. I noticed a distinct smell. It was too faint to make out. Plus, it was mixed with my aftershave. "Can you stop assuming things about me? Kelly watches that freak of a show, do I remind you of Kelly in any manner?"

"No, my Queen."

Deft silence.

"I'm hanging up."

"No—come on. I was joking. I'll stop, I really will." For a minute I thought she had hung up. Then I heard her sigh, the air rattling the receiver. "Are we really not talking about the kiss? Because I kissed you first, but you kissed me back."

"Well," Valerie began. "You're not a terrible kisser, Matthews."

I swear I could hear teasing in her voice, almost like she was smiling a little. A mocking smile mixed with a little softness.

"That's why?" I pressed. It was the last time I'd ask.

"Yes. If you bit me or like, pounded your teeth into mine, I would've pushed you away. But it was good, and you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth…" She stopped. "I never understood that saying." Ditto.

I propped myself on an elbow. I didn't know what to say now. I still wasn't sure why I'd called her or how this conversation wasn't sucking. I felt like I should validate her kissing skills as well, but I didn't think Valerie would appreciate the comments. She would think I was making a move on her—to date her. Or worse.

"Okay. I'm… glad you liked it." It was one of the lamest things I'd ever said. I sat up fully. I rubbed the back of my neck. "I'll see you around?" and that ladies and gentlemen, was probably the dumbest thing I ever said.

It was summer. High school was over. The only time I would see Valerie would be if she was hanging out with Trip and Ava and I showed up. For a long moment, all I heard from her was breathing—soft but rushed. Then, the breaths got cut off, almost like she was sucking in a big gulp of air.

"Yeah. Yeah, Finn. Have a good summer."

I rubbed my forehead. "You too, Valerie."

This time the call did end. She ended it. I looked down at my phone wondering for a little while if I should text her. With what? Are you interested in this girl? With a snort, I tossed the phone aside and got up to play some Dark Souls. Throughout my gameplay in Blighttown, I couldn't stop replaying that last breathless sentence and how my name sounded so warm on Valerie's mouth—which might be why I kept dying over and over, more than usual.